Webs

By a trick of golden light shines
A fine pattern of webs in still air
Million threads locked in soft embrace
A fragile snapshot of surreal truth.

Another trick folds into grey gloom
Musty cobwebs of now dark threads
Until the world is as it was
Still and black and unchanging dull.

But a strand of gossamer vein
Slips and floats to a gentle death
Glowing fire-bright with each moment
Blazing star-like closer to the end.

(The new old silence bodes heavy
Sad butterfly wisps sway in tune
To the fickle call of not there breeze.)

Webs like fingerprints catch the light
Webs too frayed, webs remade by will
But webs that gleam, webs that glitter
Webs that make the pattern of life -
No tricks can blacken their skin.

Too varied to be, too fine to survive
The cost of beauty trumps its worth?
The dark hurt yet remains where
A golden thread faded to vapour.

Now a gentle whisper signals hope
A new thread spins into life
Delicate tips probe and seek
And touch and make new and old
Until the hurt heals and all is whole.